Dancing in the Shadows
by Louey06
Summary: Usually when a tall handsome stranger sits beside you it's time to thank your lucky stars. Unless of course he's a Weasley and you're a Black.


**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter**

**AN: Written for the Black family Tree Comp on HPFC. Probably the fluffiest thing I've done here. and my first time dealing with unknown characters. Very fun, if a bit strange. Hope you can enjoy it! Leace a review at the end please!**

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The small dance hall was filled with people, and yet the noise level was rather dim. Tightly knit groups were scattered across the floor conversing in low murmurs, as though frightened they might be overheard. A string quartet filled the room with a gentle tune hardly louder than the rolling tide. A few of the younger couples danced expertly across the small dance floor, dipping and swaying as the music allowed.

The room itself was decorated lavishly, silk garlands overlapped overhead, dotted with sparkling jewels. In the center a grand chandelier sparkled over the dance floor, bathing the room with bright candlelight. Every corner of the room was filled with expensive trinkets, useless in every sense of the word but to impress the many guests.

In one corner of the hall, sitting at a lonely table was a young witch, bedecked in deep indigo robes, her long black hair swept up in an elegant knot. Whilst her outwards appearance was cool and distant inside she was all but bouncing with utter boredom. Her escort had disappeared hours ago and she had sat at the table awaiting his return. She continued sitting there, though now she knew he would not be back, for she had nothing better to do.

Much to her consternation a chair was pulled out beside her and a boy plopped himself into it in a most undignified way. "Hello, do you mind if I sit here?"

She studied him carefully, he too was bedecked in dress robes, though his were an emerald been and far less fine than her own. They were worn and old fashioned, as though found in a box stowed in an attic for several years. His face was cheerful, a happy grin placed upon it, reaching all the way up to his blue eyes. His mop of red hair was neatly combed, sorted carefully to look presentable. Overall not too bad a specimen, though not quite up to her own standard. "If you must."

"No need to sound so happy about it." He said, though his smile did not waver in the slightest, "I'm Septimus Weasley." He held a hand out to her.

"Charmed I'm sure." She replied looking down her nose at the proffered appendage, "Cedrella Black."

"Black hm?" He asked, "well then you must be used to these sot of parties, can't say I'm very fond of this one. All a stroke of bad luck I'm here at all. Dad got an invitation through the ministry and insisted we all come."

Cedrella listened courteously to the ramblings of the Weasley boy as he continued to talk. Her state of disinterest could not help but slip as he went on to joke and chatter as though they were the best of friends. After a period she was even tempted to smile herself at his constant talk.

"Would you like to dance?"

The simple sentence threw her through a loop. Completely unprecedented as she hadn't said more than three words the whole time he'd been speaking. "No, it would be beneath my dignity."

He smirked , "'Beneath your dignity'? How so? Your sister's over there dancing with Longbottom."

"Not the dancing part," she said, a hint of annoyance slipping through her normally perfect decorum, "The part where I would be with you."

He straightened himself on the chair in a show of indignation, "well, I suppose I ought to be offended. What about my presence displeases you?"

"Nothing in particular. It's only that you are a Weasley. I can't be seen dancing with a Weasley."

"It's the hair isn't it? It's puts people off."

Against her will a small giggle escaped her lips, "No, it doesn't matter what color of your hair is. It's only that with all the people here it would be unbefitting for me to be seen with you."

"I'm with you now."

"Not of my choice."

"So if we were alone you'd dance with me?"

She started, turning to get a better look at him. Where was this insistence coming from? Surely the request had not been more than good manners? "I said no such thing. I've told you it's beneath me."

"No you said it was wrong because other's would bear witness. Surely if we were alone it would be more than acceptable. A single dance is all I'm requesting."

"Regardless," She said nervously sweeping a stray bit of hair from her face, "there are indeed people here, making your point void."

"There isn't anyone in the garden." Septimus pressed, leaning closer as he spoke, Might you like to come out and do something _'beneath your dignity'_ for once in your life?"

She stared at him, her mouth parted slightly in wonderment. It certainly was not imagined that he seemed to be attempting to win her favor. Though with any luck the spark of acceptance she felt was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.

"If you'd like I'll be out near the rosebush. No music out there, but not a hint of prying eyes." With that he stood and with a tip of his head wondered off, not farther into the party, but towards the French doors that led to the garden.

Cedrella bit softly on her bottom lip as the striking red hair became nothing more than a speck in her memory. It would be madness to follow. Associating with a Weasley would be social suicide. Not to mention the utter horrors that would be sure to befall her if the news were ever to be spread. And yet she found herself standing and wiping at her robes to straighten them. She walked purposefully across the room and slipped silently through the door.

Sure that she had lost all sense she followed the worn dirt path in the dark night her way lit by the shine of the crescent moon. It wasn't long before she saw the patch of rosebushes that were blooming spectacularly. Beside them Septimus stood waiting; a brilliant grin gracing his features.

He held out his hand with a deep bow, "a dance if you please my lady."

Tentatively she held out her own delicate hand to have it encompassed in his broad one. She placed her other hand on his shoulder as her grabbed onto her waist. With practiced steps he began to twirl her about, gracefully leading them onto a patch of green grass.

It was not long before his grace and easy smile enraptured her. From some unfathomable reason she found herself smiling right along with him. She had met him not more than an hour ago, yet she felt she'd known him for years. He was simple, charming, not hampered down by silly rules and regulations. He didn't blink an eye knowing she was a Black, no sense of power or conquest had been inflected in his request. True desire of her company had permeated his words.

And she found she liked it.

It was easy to drop the surnames and be nothing more than Septimus and Cedrella. She felt little need to compose herself in his presence. There was no benefit to being with a Weasley. No forced coercion from her mother. She had made her choice based on nothing more than his easy smile and twinkling eyes.

Out here with the moonlight gleaming subtly in his hair she was herself. The name of Black meant little to the flowers and the grass, or indeed to the boy twirling her about. Here she was just Cedrella.


End file.
